


Irresponsible

by SiderealV



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Gen, mild robogore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 22:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3504317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiderealV/pseuds/SiderealV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He shouldn’t be surprised; these little house calls seem to be becoming a regular occurrence. But with no benefit to his team, his friends, why should Ratchet bother to save the enemy?</p><p>Tumblr prompt fill for thelittlestgreene. Critique is welcomed and highly encouraged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irresponsible

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thelittlestgreene](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=thelittlestgreene).



_Have intel, bring medical kit. Come alone._

When the message pinged his console in the dead of night, Ratchet scoffed incredulously. It hardly mattered that the correspondence was signed with a set of coordinates instead of a name; this had become something of a ritual for the seeker since of late. Well tough scrap. He was a medic, not a charity case. The nemesis was high in orbit, decepticons licking their wounds after a hard-won victory by his companions. Intel his left pede. Starscream had nothing, and he knew it. Still…

It should have been easy to ignore the summons; this was the enemy. He couldn’t even count the number of times the jet had come into direct confrontation with Team Prime, and he’d little doubt that Starscream would readily snuff him if the opportunity presented itself. So it was with profound irritation that Ratchet found himself continously glancing at the minimized message flashing at the bottom of his screen. If his last few “house calls” were anything to go by, Starscream likely wasnt exaggerating his need for assistance. He wondered which of his own kind the decepticon had fallen afoul of this time. His servos itched despite himself at the idea of the creature meeing a slow, painful end out in the wilderness. It could take days for even a serious wound to bleed the jet dry. He clenched his fists.

DAMN his programming.

Snarling an exasperated sound, Ratchet jabbed the coordinates into the console and slammed the ground bridge open hard enough to dent the lever. Subspacing an extra med kit, he approached the bridge. It was late; battle-weary and exhausted, his companions needed their rest. He wouldn’t wake them for this.

——————————

Starscream didn’t notice him as he approached, and the medic was grimly satisfied to confirm his assumption at the flier’s state. The seeker sat leaning back against a tree with optics shut and wings drooped low enough as to rest on the ground. The blast wound was a ugly thing, a deep crater in the jet’s chassis, oozing with spilled energon and exposing his charred internals. Fusion canon. Typical. It was a pity Megatron hadn’t managed to snuff his miserable spark.

"You don’t have anything, do you." A statement, not a question. If he felt any pity for the other, his voice betrayed none of it. The "former" decepticon took notice of him at last, crimson optics flickering to life as he looked up.

"You… actually came alone?"

Ratchet scoffed derisively, withdrawing the supplies from his subspace as he knelt to start on a preliminary scan.

"As if I’d need backup to deal with you in this state." He swatted a clawed servo away from where it lay resting at the wound’s jagged edge, ignoring the pained hiss as he probed the mangled plating with his digits, assessing the damage.

"Do your… little Autobot friends," he panted, "know you’re out playing nurse to a decepticon in the middle of the night? "

Ratchet said nothing, grimacing as he began to solder and bend metal back into place. Damn his programming. Damn the insufferable, irresistible urge to do what he was forged to do. He hauled a twisted edge back into alignment, taking grim satisfaction in the resulting cry of pain that he knew Optimus would not approve of. The seeker growled… he chuckled… he laughed.

"Dear Ratchet. Such a noble little autobot. How very irresponsible."


End file.
